


Of Stars and Stags

by minyoongitrash



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crime, Murder, Mystery, idk how to tag this because it's so short?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minyoongitrash/pseuds/minyoongitrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murder style à la Auschwitz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Stars and Stags

**Author's Note:**

> This is a standalone piece set some time between major plot points in Season 1, which Will first starts hallucinating. I hope you enjoy this!

 

“I pick the lock on the door, quickly slipping inside. I know that the alarm system is off because I could see the family moving around through the windows from when I was watching the cabin just minutes earlier. I then close the door silently before I sweep the bottom floor, stealthily moving from the hallway to the sitting room, to the dining room, then to the kitchen, where the youngest of the children is reaching for a glass on a high shelf. I greet the little monster and help him get his glass, a smile on my face. The child recognizes me and rushes up to give me a hug. I easily find the pressure point on his neck and deftly immobilize him. I pick him up, then pad over to the couch, where I put him down.

“Next, the study. Mr. Turner is bent over something, his back facing me. I can see the glass of whiskey by his left hand. Slowly, I approach and take a sash out. He sees me coming through the reflection of his laptop screen, and demands to know what I’m doing in his sanctuary. I close the distance easily and sling the sash over his neck, but before I can start to strangle him, he surges up. I quickly step back, and the two of us engage in a dance, circling each other and waiting for the other to strike. Mr. Turner steps forwards, fist flying faster than I can follow. I’m hit. Knuckles now bruised, Mr. Turner tries to throw another punch but before he can, I catch it with the sash then twist, throwing him off-balance. The man crashes to the ground, then I straddle him. He wheezes under my weight I punch him, an uppercut, and knock him out.

“I tie him up with plastic wrap from the kitchen then put him in the living room with his son. Bottom floor cleared, I ascend the stairs.

"The other two Turner children are watching TV. I take one out quickly, then, before the other can scream, I strike again. I leave the two there, knowing that they would be undisturbed.

“Last: Mrs. Turner. I creep down to the opposite side of the hall, where I can hear a shower going. I step into the master bedroom, then quickly get to the master bathroom. I enter the shower stall and surprise Mrs. Turner, who freezes long enough for me to immobilize her.

“With all the Turners dealt with, I drag them all down to the basement, where I know the sauna to be. I then fetch the rest of my tools from the car- they would’ve been too heavy for me to carry around and knock out the family at the same time- and bring them all down to the basement. Checking to see that the Turners are all still out, I take out a kind of gas dispenser- a greande, perhaps, and check that it’s secure. I then pile the Turners into the sauna, uncork the grenade, throw it in, then shut the door. I grab a gas mask from the duffle, and wait for the mustard gas to take effect. After the deed is done and they stop twitching, I turn on the ventilation, and the mustard gas disperses. Keeping the gas mask on, I enter the room. All the Turners are dead.

“I strip them of their clothes, and then I take the bodies and rearrange them into the symbol of my people. I step back to admire my handiwork, then leave.

_ “This is my design.” _

The darkness in the room melts away before Will’s eyes, the skin of the dead family members going from being shaded to pallid. There is total silence, the kind of silence that had invaded Will’s- no, the killer’s ears before a slight pop then a hiss pushed the silence away with a cloud of destructive gas.

Agent Crawford clears his throat.

_ Pop. _

Murmurs start up.

_Hiss._

“So... the killer took out the family, killed them style à la Auschwitz, then dragged themup to the living room and rearranged them to... this,” the agent summarizes, sweeping a hand over the bodies. The bodies were arranged painstakingly into the Star of David.

“Yes.” Will stares unflinchingly down at the symbol.

“The family knew him, then?”

The consultant nods. “ I think so. The cabin is on a remote location probably known to few. A close family friend would be privy to such information.”

As Crawford turns to order an intern to get HQ to pull up a list of the Turners’ known associates, Will begins to circle the corpses. The youngest of the Turners had been three, the twins nine. The parents, both in their late 30s. They all had blonde hair, though the father and the youngest had blue eyes and the twins and the mother had brown ones.

“Some fucked up shit here, eh?”

The voice comes to Will as if he were underwater: diluted and distorted. “Y-yeah,” he stammers back, blinking rapidly. He straightens up to see the intern looking at him. The eye contact they make unnerves the consultant. “Can I help you with something?”

“I-”

“Greenberg, do you have that list for me yet?” Agent Crawford approaches the two of them, lips set in a hard line. Will looks away.

The young man’s eyes widens. “N-no, sir, not yet.”

“Then stop bothering Mr. Graham here and carry on. We’re FBI, for god’s sake, not children.”

Will can't care less if the intern bothers him, for he had been looking past him into the woods.

A black stag stares back at him, its magnificent horns reaching up toward the sky. The longer Will stares at its face, the more he swears he can see the stag’s face shifting, slowly melting into a familiar face…

“Graham!”

Startled, Will spins back around. Crawford is giving him one of his inscrutable looks, lips set in an unmoving frown.

“Did you see something out there?” Crawford presses.

Will looks back toward the forest.

The stag is gone.

“No,” Will says quietly. “Nothing at all.”


End file.
